He might think I don’t pick up on some of the little things, but I do. He says he was mugged, but that’s not true. It can’t be. Not the way he and his cousin get all secretive about it when I’m around.
“It’s not my house,” he whispers against my ear, causing a shiver to run up my spine.
I shake it off and step away from him. “You know what I mean. You’re staying here. You offered it. You get to decide if you want us to work on putting it right that night after cleaning up or come back the next day.”
“I can tell you right now that they can come back the next day.”
I furrow my brows. He said they, which doesn’t include me. “You don’t want me to come back the next day?”
Another side grin forms on his face. The cocky one where only one corner of his mouth turns up. He also raises a single eyebrow. All indications that I had him wrong. But how?
Then realization slams into me like a bus. Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t want me to come back, but that he wants me to already be here. Could that be it? Sure, we’ve had nights where we’ve spent time in his bedroom, but I usually file out and go back to my place before morning.
Ugh. Keenan is messing with my head, and he knows it too, as evidenced by his quiet chuckle. I narrow my eyes on him and glare, but that only makes him laugh harder.
“Anyway,” I begin, “no one will be going upstairs, so if you want to stay up there, you won’t be bothered. Also, no one will be going to the basement or the garage, except for my people.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“I don’t want anyone snooping around. This is your space, and you’re graciously lending it, but I still want you to have your privacy.” For whatever reason, I feel that his privacy and security are the utmost important thing, even if he doesn’t act like it matters. I know it does.
Keenan takes my hand again and leads me out onto the patio. I’m sure there’s another big fancy word for it, like terrace, but I’ve always called them patios. Being raised with my father’s money showed me many things, and one of those is that rich people have rich-sounding words for just about everything.
For example, I’d bet a lot of my father’s money that whoever owns this house doesn’t call it a living room. They probably call it a sitting room or something else. But I’ve never understood why even words have to separate the rich and the poor. It doesn’t make sense. We’re all people.
This is something else I differ from my father on and is why I didn’t talk to him about Keenan or mention him to my father in regard to this house. My father just doesn’t see things the way that I do. In his mind, Keenan isn’t good enough for me because he didn’t grow up with money.
But if my father allowed himself to see past that, he wouldn’t be able to deny everything that Keenan is doing to make sure my event is a success. People only do that for people that they care about. I don’t care about the money or any of the other things my father thinks are important. I care about action. I care about the little things that most people wouldn’t even notice.
The things Keenan is doing every day.
We come to a stop at the railing, where Keenan leans on his elbows as we look out over the garden. Everything is lush greenery and vibrant colors. Clearly, someone takes excellent care of this place and the property.
“How’s that night going to work?” he asks, looking up at me with those blue eyes. For a moment, my brain shorts out, and I have no idea which night he’s talking about. “The event?”
Oh right. The event. “Well, as I said before, people should start arriving around seven, and we will be cleared out by midnight.” I glance at him then back out at the garden. “I hope.”
“You hope?”
“Things sometimes take longer than expected or go wrong, but I’ll do my best to have everything cleaned up by midnight.”
Keenan lets out a long sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care how long it takes?” He turns and takes both of my hands in his. “This is your night, Delilah. Don’t worry about me or being an imposition. If I thought it would be a problem, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“Okay.” I give in. Maybe I’ve been more worried than I even admitted to myself.
“I didn’t mean that anyway. I meant, do you have a date? Are you bringing someone to the event with you?”
My mouth opens and then closes several times as I try to grasp how he could even ask me that question. A date? Really? When he knows how he affects me. He can’t not know. Every time we’re near each other, my heart is racing and my breath comes quicker. Having him near affects me in a way that no one else ever had.
“A date?” I croak out. “No. I’m not bringing a date, Keenan.” My tone comes out bitchier than I intend, but it’s too late now to do a damn thing about it.
“I’ll be your date,” he says as if it’s a foregone conclusion.
“You’ll be my date?” I repeat, but I don’t think he realizes I’ll be working the entire night. I won’t have time to do anything a normal couple would. I’ll be running around sweating my ass off in uncomfortable shoes.
“Yeah. That way, you have someone there just for you.”
“I have assistants. Including your sister.”
